The Quiet Before The Storm
by Becky4
Summary: Chloe ponders upon the often leather clad hero currently residing in her lap.


Nobody knew, it was her little intimate secret

**The quiet before the storm.**

**Title: **The quiet before the storm

**Ratings:** PG

**Pairings:** Chloe/A certain leather clad hero

**Summary:** Chloe ponders upon the man who's head currently resides in her lap.

**Notes:** Unbetad, so my dyslexic tendencies may show through, any feedback appreciated. Thanks.

Nobody knew, it was her little intimate and indulgent secret. Obsession wasn't the word for it, neither was fantasy; because she didn't imagine how it might be between them. No, no, she certainly wasn't a lovesick teenager. Appreciation was perhaps a more appropriate word; even then it never seemed to encapsulate her specific, exact, precise, immediate or enduring feelings for him.

For someone who had for a long time considered wordsmithing to be her predominant future occupation, this predicament was embarrassing. Not that anybody would be allowed to discover her dark and dastardly secret. Or perhaps they would? Fate could pack a big fat punch when it felt so inclined, and hers were often more frequent than others. If certain quarters found out, then the shit in varying consistencies, and of a wildly aromatic persuasion would hit the great big, target sized fan as quickly as an arrow. Ruminations of this nature were allowed infrequently in her present world, well for much of her life really. Her creative imagination had often lead her into dangerous situations rather than ponderings of her own place in the universe.

The teams carefully laid plans quickly needed to bear fruit, yet at this moment there was a calm. Natures little marker that a storm was waiting in the wings, and she hoped to everything and everyone that those closest to her would weather it. She had, however, learned long ago that life wasn't a harlequin novel, not everyone would escape unscathed by the approaching tempest.

Gentle movement against her thighs altered the path of her thoughts towards the man resting against her body. Outwardly he rarely displayed anything other than a relaxed rich boy persona, a man in control of his business and life. Well, in public situations that was, privately it has been known for the dragon to shoot fire. A dragon that at this precise moment lay slumbering with his head in her lap. Cliché it may be, but there was a reason situations like this were gathered under that umbrella. She fully intended to indulge in the advantages of this particular one.

Calm even breaths assured her that she wouldn't be disturbed in her perusal. Pure and unadulterated pleasure or, as close to it as she was likely to experience anytime soon awaited her. The late hour accounted for the purple haze lingering around the room. Stacey Kent cast her sultry breath into the air, and cinnamon from the baking apples perfumed the ether. Stronger than this was his presence. Strength; curved and hard pressed itself into both the sofa and her. His physique in the humid atmosphere glazed like Mrs Kent's sweet confections.

Lashes, unashamedly and outrageously long brushed his cheek. Lids shaded eyes that enjoyed teasing her dreams more often than not; damn them! Lips, pink perfections she ached to touch and smooth her own against, now rested slightly parted and relaxed. She enjoyed watching them in motion, especially when they snarked with her own. Smiling she remembered with joy the opening parry in their latest volley, he'd won that particular round; but only just!

Languorously she let the pads of her fingers create friction against his skin. Gliding down and over his shoulder, drawing an imaginary line past the elbow, to slip into palms resting on abdominal's akin to those of Michelangelo's David, and deserving of multiples of gold medals.

Months ago with certain calluses those hands had rested on her face with a positive pressure, releasing her from exile of human touch. In her imprisonment the worst torture had been the loss of physical contact. That was the worst pain, bruises and breaks had been endurable, bearable even; the other hadn't. Her captors had in her opinion practised upon her the true monarch of persecution- absence of touch.

Eyes had locked with hers. Arms had gathered bones almost bare of their fleshy protection close to the warmth and safety of his own. In the rush of the escape, that moment had been the only one she had remembered in perfect and precise detail. Her own guardian knight in tight leather had rode to her rescue. Who cared if his steed had swapped favours with wheels, turbo engine and a can of green paint?

That day she hadn't cared a damn.

This day and any future day she wouldn't care a damn either!

"The way you're caressing my hand could lead a guy to think you had thoughts of an amorous nature"

"Yeah, well look who fell so easily into my lap Queen!" I shot back at the now wide-eyed object of my ruminations.

A languid smile and a light from his eyes were the only reply I received for some considerable time.

Minutes faded to an hour.

My thoughts felt loud enough to bounce boomerang like off the walls.

"Have you ever considered that perhaps that was my original intention Sullivan?"


End file.
